


drip

by Control_Room



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Bittersweet Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Instability, Suicide, eska kim and niamh and random_ag's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Drip, drip, drip. The sound filled his mind. He hated it. He always was sensitive to sound. The drips were better than the voices though. Oh, those voices: they pounded in his brain, ringing and clamoring and over powering. Violent. Making him volatile. Himself spilling down his sides only to be magnetized right back up to his body, repulsed and retracted all at once by the liquid's (and his own) dual nature. It was all wrong.No. It wasn't all wrong.Not at all.He was all wrong.





	drip

Drip, drip, drip. The sound constantly filled his mind. He hated it. He always was sensitive to sound. The drips were better than the voices though. Oh, those voices: they pounded in his brain, ringing and clamoring and over powering. Violent. Making him volatile. Himself spilling down his sides only to be magnetized right back up to his body, repulsed and retracted all at once by the liquid's (and his own) dual nature. It was all wrong.

No. It wasn't  _all_ wrong.

Not at all.

 **He** was all wrong.

* * *

The voices were whispering in the back of his mind, telling him how screwed up he was. How insane. Hopeless. How he could have saved them. He could have helped. All of them, Jack and Henry and Allison, the real Allison, not Tom -- but it was too late. If there had been a war, he could have left and come back to fix everything afterwards. But now... he dryly let out an empty laugh, only breath, no humor or sound. He heard enough sound from his body's leaks and the crowd in his mind, he did not need to hear his disgusting, horrible, ugly voice added to the mix. He groaned as a wave of dizziness rammed through him, leaving his with a feeling of gel in his legs. His breathing picked up as the demon stalked past him, taking no notice of him. No one saw him if he didn't want to be seen, not even Nor-- the Projectionist. The Projectionist.  _He’s_ gone. Some side effects of not being seen was the headache and the (more) exhaustion. He made his way to a safe house, stumbling and gripping his head through his white/clear hair. He was sickly and grotesque. Too fat and too thin. Too boyish and too feminine. Disheveled ruin. Useless.

His body collapsed onto the makeshift bed, merely a stolen cushion from one of the rides in Bendy Hell. His breathing slowed as his vision blacked out. The voices got louder.

He woke up, ringing and dripping in his ears, shrieking and shouting in his head. He wanted them to go away, he needed them  **out**. Hands shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. There were many. He poured about twenty into his hand, devouring them. The babble turned to a loud scream of pain, him pulling on his hair in agony. And then - silence. His hand lowered from his face, ink and tears mixing with blood and acetone. The acetone, allowing him to be invisible. The acetone in the pills, the acetone in his veins, injected, swallowed, drank, and eaten. It was a part of him.

It dripped down his face as his hair, and through cuts in his arms. He tasted it in his saliva, stinging as it mixed with the ink. A horrible, splitting, and unnatural feeling. None of the others could "take it" he said as he begged for the other to reconsider. All the others fell apart and melted, he informed him, from the chemical. None of the others could accept the persecuting liquid, he told him, even as he tore open his chest, injecting the needle directly into his heart that time. No one but him, he said calmly as he sobbed and screamed and convulsed and writhed, tears and blood and ink and acetone forced into one being. He was the "key".The four formed a twisting and flowing scab he noticed when he had came to. Bottles of pills were lined up on the desk. He took them all. The acetone in them kept the voices away. But they let his other side in, a grin blooming across his face, dark eyes blazing white. He shook out his hair, the acetone having got in his face.

The acetone.

The reason it hurt anyone else to touch him.

His insane eyes widened, huge, his grin stretching. He could still save them! He could destroy  **him**! He could free them all, he could decimate that machine that turned them wrong! All he had to do was kill.

He  **had** to.

He had to kill Joey Drew.

And in doing that, he kill himself. Trying to kill Joey would kill him easily.

He grabbed the pills.

He didn't hide from anyone as he made his way up from the lowest floor. Norman, for Norman he was,  **not** just a projector, shrieked and tried to grab him, hands burning as he did. He looked up, the acetone in the other's body clearing his mind momentarily. Allison, no, his name was Thomas (just because he sang soprano did  **not**  make him an Alice Angel,  _Joey_ ), stabbed him from around the bend. The ink welled into the wound, repairing him. He looked at the wolf beside him, Tom... no, Wally, he only was the voice actor. Wally stared at him, but he kept his face blank and heart painfully clear, the blood throbbing. He had to kill Joey, not reconnect, though he now had a curious following. Bertrum was 'picked up' by Lacie in the animatronic, him in the form of a Boris action figure. Sammy, singing, stopped his solo when he saw the odd group following him, joining Thomas and Wally. Even Alice Angel agreed to come after him. The perfect Bendy and the monstrous version were added to the odd group in the form of Henry and Eska. A hooded crow and a raven slipped in, both of them the Irish Niamh and Shawn. Jack was assisted by another two searchers, Kim and Grant, Johnny beside them, the lost one removed from the organ. A door stood before them. Whistling was heard coming from behind it.

He put his hand on it. It melted away from the acid.

The whistling stopped. The accursed person peered at the group.

"Joey," he breathed, the whisper loud in the silence. Tears dripped down his face as he took a step forward. Joey stood up. None of the others could open the door. None of the others could bear the pain of passing the threshold. But he wasn't any of the others. "I'm going to kill you."

"Ah, Franks, calm down," he smoothly rolled his eyes. Nervousness was in his tone. "Just... sit down, and we'll talk about this little...  _joke_ of yours."

"Not a joke, you monster," he hissed in reply, acetone dripping from his mouth, mixed with ink. The liquids bubbled. He wiped it away. His head lolled in pain. "Unless you fix everyone."

"But..." Joey hesitated, then gave in with a sigh. "You know what needs to be done."

"No. I don't."

"Really?" Joey's thin lips twitched into a smile. He reached into a drawer to pull out an A1 gun. He recognized it as his own, Joey taking away from him it to 'prevent the key from being used too early'. "I'd expect you of all people would know. You are the key after all."

"What... do you... mean?" he picked up the gun. His gun. It weighed heavily in his hand. Twelve people met their ends from that weapon. He pointed it at Joey, tilting his head in question. Joey sighed, exasperated, shaking his head and turning the gun on the owner, aimed at his heart. He blinked. "Why?"

"Because you're the conductor for every realm," Joey rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? You're the only one who can even take the acetone. You are the realms of: sadness, tears; happiness, ink; love, blood; and tranquility, acetone. No one else could accept their fate," he turned to them with a snarl, "but you... you gave up and took it. You just... let it happen."

"You used me," he breathed, the weight of the words sinking slowly. "For your own amusement. For your curiosity. What you wanted. I... gave up, because you told me i-if I didn't struggle... you wouldn't hurt them. You lied to me. You drove Eska to hang himself, and if it wasn't for that useless machine bringing him back every time, he'd be dead. You split Sammy from Wally and Thomas, because it 'lowered productivity'. You maltreated and malformed Susie, Allison, and Norman. You twisted everyone, and you made Henry what you could never be. A better being than you. You lied about yourself. You  **lied**."

"Now now," Joey stood, angered. "I did not. See, they couldn't take in enough happiness, so it's their ow--"

##  **_Bang_**.  _ **Bang**_.

Both men dropped to the floor. Joey was clutching at his stomach doubling over in pain. The other was looking at his own chest in morbid fascination. Wally screamed, running into the room, ink slipping of his form, unnoticed.  He ripped off his brother's shirt hoping to help him. He recoiled in horror at the massive rippling scab, waves of the four core elements circling a hole directly over his heart. He smiled up at his brother, who had been shifting from a wolf to a human. All of them were loosing their ink. Susie found herself in Allison's arms.

"I didn't kill him," he murmured. "I couldn't, how can I? But me... I'm going."

"No, no, y-you're gonna be fine bro, you c-can't... you're gonna be okay!" Wally assured him, tears spilling, mixing with his blood. "Please, no...."

"Love ya, bro."

With a sigh, he relaxed for the last time.

Shawn, wrenching himself free of the last of the ink, ran over, but it was too late. He took the other's hand. It was already cold. He felt tears pouring down his face in cascades. Eska seemed equally shocked, having returned to his scarecrow like body rather than a demon, leaning over his best friend, motionless in his twin's real arm and mechanical one. Allison buried her face in Susie's shoulder. Jack took off his hat. Lacie blinked away tears before becoming engulfed in Bertrum's arms. Thomas touched Wally's shoulder, Sammy beside him. Wally rose his head, engulfed in rage, bitter tears shining bright.

" **SAVE HIM**!" he roared, grabbing Joey by his lapels and shaking him, wolf like in his anger. "He, a goddamned angel, for some inexplicable reason, didn't blow your sick brains out! Now do some good for once in your life and  _save him_!"

"I can't..." Joey wheezed, hand on his stomach where blood was a mere trickle. Wally's hand grasped his throat. "Wait, wait, Wally!"

Sammy and Thomas pulled him back, seething. He turned away, his boyfriends holding him. Shawn, holding Willy’s body, approached.

"Please..." he entreated. "I know you can."

Joey hesitated.

"Give me three hours."


End file.
